Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. She wanted to turn him. To perdition with them all. ‘I knew it.
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