She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. . . He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent.
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