She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. Those were dreams. 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. "Yes. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. “Damned Rascal!” he said.
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