It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. “Once or twice. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. And the situation it makes!—the situation!” Thus Manning, egotistical, inconsecutive, unreal. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. “I am off to-night,” he said. I’m taking no chances. This service rendered, without waiting for any farther order, she withdrew.
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