But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. His voice now had lost its ironies. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. They concern us all. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me.
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