” “Friendship and love being separate things. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. "Oh! never mind him: he'll take no harm! Come with me into the parlour. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office. ” “By God!” said Manning, making the most of the word, “I suppose it’s fate. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. It wouldn't do to say that she was from the hospital. I make no apology for not being with you now.
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