Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily.
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