It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Them young prigs is all alike. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. ” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. 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. But I'll tell you about him some other time.
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