. She had had two days of employment-seeking now. She rose briskly, turned on the light, and opened Les Misérables to the episode of the dark forest: where Jean Valjean reaches out and takes Cosette's frightful pail from her chapped little hands. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here. She is, in her way, a dear. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. "Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. You dear, dear girl. Not at all. ” “You’ll make me look a fool before all my friends. I will be very well without him. She saw how overworked he was. “I have been very selfish,” she declared.
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