" "I know you'll contradict it, Sir," said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,—"I know you will. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. "It is Jonathan. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. The small predator subconsciously acknowledged the larger one.
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