‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. But never mind that. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. "No!" she cried. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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