" "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. Niente. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. Then he paused. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague.
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