She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. ToC Tyburn was now at hand. . She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. 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. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained. “I must read him when I come out.
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