She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. Lassitude?” “I suppose so. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. “Take off your tunic. " "Good enough for me.
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