I am twenty-seven." "Well," said Jane slowly and deliberately, "I am thirty; and I look thirty-five, and feel forty.

You are twenty-seven, Dal, and you look nineteen, and often feel nine.

I have been thinking it over, and--you know--I cannot marry a mere boy." Silence--absolute.
In sheer terror Jane forced herself to look at him.

He was white to the lips.

His face was very stern and calm--a strange, stony calmness.
There was not much youth in it just then.