Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. It would make my wife very happy. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. It was impossible. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year.
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