"Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. She loved to be told to do things. Don’t you know I disinherited the rogue?’ ‘This we knew, milor’,’ said Valade. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic.
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