Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. Retracing his steps, he arrived, without further accident, at the eastern platform of the starling. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding.
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