All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room. It had gone with the rest. The woman I wanted was another man's wife.
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