“Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space.
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