“I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. 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. “Are you looking for Mike? He’s working. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. " "Aw light!" The two old friends held each other off at arms' length for inspection; this proving satisfactory, they began to prod and pummel one another affectionately. ” She shrugged her shoulders and led him towards a small recess.
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