He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. “I shall have to go through the building. She would be extraordinarily interesting as a metaphysical study. ” Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point. 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.
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