It seemed to her in her restored geniality that she liked Manning extremely. You never can tell. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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