She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Ennison spoke at last.
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