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. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He’s dead. ‘Though he didn’t mean it.
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