Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. It was.
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