Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. "His lordship desires me to say—ough! ough!" Fresh groans and hisses. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. “Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself.
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