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. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. If he escapes at all, it must be before our faces. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality.
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