My nerves were in rags. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. She will die if she knows I have a gun. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space.
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