" "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. ‘Certainly those are names of the most undistinguished, and I would scorn to have them. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. Now he courted with “servants” which he often killed afterward. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. . The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. If you will think only of one trifling aspect—the inconvenience it must be to us to explain your absence—I think you may begin to realize what it all means for us.
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