He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. "You know this is a pet project. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. He next searched for his stockings and shoes, and when found, put them on. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs.
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