As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the great shrouded shapes of the furniture. And the situation it makes!—the situation!” Thus Manning, egotistical, inconsecutive, unreal. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. 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. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation.
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