Mrs. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. Take it, I tell you. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. " "Do you call ten guineas easy terms?" cried Wood, with a look of dismay.
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