Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights! “You shall tell me your faults,” said Manning. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. Sebastian had fetched tallow, which she angrily ordered him not to use, as she suspected its origin was not animal but human. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels.
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