Something as yet unformulated within her kept her estranged from all these practical aspects of her beliefs. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. Priests and princes sought his knowledge of languages and philosophy and wantonly tried to throw themselves into his bed. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. She was the first to recover herself. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill.
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