“I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. He looked at her in some embarrassment. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. He got up brusquely. “Yes. I want my freedom. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. . . Then she realized that it was her business to let Manning talk and impose his own interpretations upon the situation so far as he was concerned. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff.
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