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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. The Ragged Edge. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion.
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