She turned off the light and approached the window. “I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. “But you’re wrong. 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. I’ve got too much work. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. This at once thrilled her and worried her. The signs of the shops were carried to incredible distances. Daughters were not like sons. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me.
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