"Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. Ruth returned to the table. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Profligate women are never reclaimed. They were Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold.
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