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. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly. “Mary!” He whispered loudly. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles.
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