How dreary it all looks. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. . It wasn’t. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. 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 would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘The secret passage!’ It did not take long to find the mechanism of the candlesconce that opened the door. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. ” “Are you a detective or a doctor?” she asked calmly. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front.
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