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" "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. " CHAPTER XVIII. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. “I know nothing about your wife. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. They want some fun, and there isn't any. .
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