She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. Like the flaws of an old marble. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November.
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