Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Is this man Hill dead?” She shook her head. ” “May I ask,” Anna said softly, “what you presume to have been the nature of my errand here this evening?” Sir John pointed to Annabel, who was as yet utterly limp.
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