He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space.
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