Manning, with entirely suitable emotion. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. She had not even endorsed it. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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