\" She whispered back. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. Manning, in an earnest voice, and waved his hand to the alley of mauve and purple. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. " "What?" he barked.
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