Apparently I’m not to exist yet. 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. I would that you were my own. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture.
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