She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights! “You shall tell me your faults,” said Manning. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath.
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