"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. Courtlaw, is it not,” she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. He seemed to be thinking hard. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit.
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