" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. Pipes were lighted; and Mr. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks. Capes. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. This one too she read. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. . ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one.
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