There were three exit doors. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. It does not matter to him either way. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane.
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