. . Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame.
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