That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. If Emile can see him, then so also can I. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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