" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. Simply. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. CHAPTER XXXI.
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