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Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. ’ But I made sure it was you. That might happen on her birthday—in August. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. ’ She frowned suddenly.
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