Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. At Anna’s words she seemed suddenly to stiffen. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. “Call me Cathy, John. You are to remain here until you are well.
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