“Goodnight. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. ‘They cannot help it.
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