Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. I hope she falls off the face of the planet. The class of guests we have are all permanent, and I am obliged to be very careful indeed. He suggested they take the remains of the household to his country estate, where he could at least hunt through the winter to provide them venison and grouse. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation.
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