He made it brief. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. \"483-4492. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. You see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it. I think that there is no better friend for a girl than a man rather older than herself. Now I’d like the rest of your story.
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