Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. "Now, lead me to a hotel where I can get breakfast. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. She could feel her face turning beet red. "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.
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