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. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. "Square accounts with the rascal who got up the sham arrest; and, if he don't tip the cole without more ado, give him a taste of the pump, that's all. Nuns, I mean. "Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has. He seemed to know a great deal about life.
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