Jack Kimble. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. T. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. It was the beginning of June. 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. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed.
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