He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. 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. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right.
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