Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. He must know she’ll be at a convent. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. It was not that the servants could not, they simply preferred to. His eyes never left her face.
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