“And I’m not happy. Sheppard. ’ ‘Dear me. Good riddance to bad rubbish. One or the other. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. Mike sat down, his body too large for the petite blue couch. Twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history.
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