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Wilcox herself looked remarkably crisp and fresh and cheerful in her widow's dress. Tyson rather liked Mrs. He respected her, too, for wearing her weeds with an air of genial worldliness. There was something about Mrs. Wilcox that evaded the touch of sorrow; but from certain things food, clothes, furniture she seemed to catch, as it were, the sense of tears, suggestions of the human tragedy.
I understand how you married him, and you will now be very happy." Margaret did not reply. "Yes," repeated Helen, her voice growing more tender, "I do at last understand." "Except Mrs. Wilcox, dearest, no one understands our little movements." "Because in death I agree." "Not quite. I feel that you and I and Henry are only fragments of that woman's mind. She knows everything. She is everything.
Love was so unlike the article served up in books: the joy, though genuine, was different; the mystery an unexpected mystery. For one thing, Mr. Wilcox still seemed a stranger. For a time they talked about the ring; then she said: "Do you remember the Embankment at Chelsea? It can't be ten days ago." "Yes," he said, laughing.
By the time the cavalry line was formed the Confederate General Kershaw, with his own division of infantry and those of Wilcox and Heath, advanced to attack us. Directing the most of his troops against the cavalry, which was still mounted, Kershaw drove it back some distance over the high ground.
Wilcox come at last!" "Have you got the key, auntie?" "Madge, go away," said Miss Avery, still invisible. "Auntie, it's Mrs. Wilcox " Margaret supported her. "Your niece and I have come together " "Madge, go away. This is no moment for your hat." The poor woman went red. "Auntie gets more eccentric lately," she said nervously. "Miss Avery!" called Margaret. "I have come about the furniture.
He gave her Rossetti when he should have given her Ella Wheeler Wilcox; and George Eliot when he should have introduced her to Jane Austen and her gentle sister, Miss Burney.
And now, Miss Scudder, I thought I'd just take a look at that dove-colored silk of yours to-night, to see what would have to be done with it, because I must make every minute tell; and you know I lose half a day every week for the prayer-meeting. Though I ought not to say I lose it, either; for I was telling Miss General Wilcox I wouldn't give up that meeting for bags and bags of gold.
"I'll sit up for her as late as you like, but she can hardly be coming. Isn't she stopping with her sister at the hotel?" "Perhaps," said Mr. Wilcox thoughtfully "perhaps." "Can I do anything for you, sir?" "Not tonight, my boy." Mr. Wilcox liked being called sir. He raised his eyes and gave his son more open a look of tenderness than he usually ventured.
I know more about them than you do, which you forget, and if Charles had taken you that motor drive well, you'd have reached the house a perfect wreck. Oh, Margaret, you don't know what you are in for. They're all bottled up against the drawing-room window. There's Mrs. Wilcox I've seen her. There's Paul. There's Evie, who is a minx. There's Charles I saw him to start with.
I attempted to go in to speak to the salesman, with whom I was acquainted, but was harshly driven away, by an officious policeman, as if I was endeavoring to steal something. I came back to my house at 9:30 and found in the library Mr. Wilcox and his mother, Mrs. Longstreet, Dr. and Mrs. Whitney, Mrs. Hicks and her daughter, Sallie, Ruth, and Marie Louise.
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