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. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Her little white hand stole across the table. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. But also this must not go on. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for every ache and joy I've had. ’ She closed her mind on the possibility of finding out, and went on, ‘But me, I have been in a war, and I have won. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually.
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