This is simply a chapter of coincidences. Ah! what's that?" he exclaimed, as some one brushed hastily past him. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. So the charge was dismissed. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. 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. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. He looked at her with a certain curiosity. She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out.
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