“Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. Luck. 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. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. "During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped.
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