Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. “You must tell me the truth, please. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. .
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