Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. ” She laughed at him easily and mirthfully. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. “It is positively no use, Anna,” she declared, appealingly. " "Professional?" "Why do you wish to know?" "Professional nurses wear a sort of uniform. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. Wood, at the top of her voice. Fate! You are so frank so splendid! “I’m taking this calmly now,” he said, almost as if he apologized, “because I’m a little stunned. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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