The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. "My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. Stonily he had disengaged himself. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that.
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