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"And I have seen a good many hundred worse than yours, Mrs. Wilson."
Mrs. Wilson laughed. "Twenty years ago, if you had said so, I might
have believed you, or even ten; but, bless you, I am an old woman now,
and can say what I choose to the men. Forty-two next Candlemas."
In the country they call themselves old at forty-two, because they
feel young. In town they call themselves young at forty-two, because
they feel old.
David found that he had fallen in with a gossip; and, being in no
humor for vague chat, he left Mrs. Wilson to herself, with an
assurance that Miss Fountain would be down to her directly.
In leaving her he went into worse company--his own thoughts; they were
inexpressibly sad and bitter. "She hates me, then," said he.
"Everybody is welcome to her at all hours, except me. That lady said
it was because I interrupted her flirtation. Aha! well, I shan't
interrupt her flirtation much longer. I shan't be in her way or
anybody's long. A few short hours, and this bitter day will be
forgotten, and nothing left me but the memory of the kindness she had
for me once, or seemed to have, and the angel face I must carry in my
heart wherever I go, by land or sea. The sea? would to God I was upon
it this minute! I'd rather be at sea than ashore in the dirtiest night
that ever blew."
He had been walking to and fro a good half-hour, deeply dejected and
turning bitter, when, looking in accidentally at the hall door, he
caught sight of Mrs.
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