You say you love me and want to marry, but those are strong, potent words, words meant to last a lifetime. 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. "By George!" he exclaimed. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. If I had known that you were here you should not have been kept waiting for a second. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. He was an imaginative young man.
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