The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel.
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