Wood became sensible that he was not alone. "You should be glad to be made an honest woman. Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance. "What's the matter with the man?" demanded Wild. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. No doubt there’s some little mistake. CHAPTER VII.
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