“That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. How plainly he could see the patch of garden in the summer sunshine and the white hollyhocks nodding above the picket fence! ***** Ruth sat waiting for the half hour, subconsciously. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing.
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