She could not bear the shame of it. ‘She’s gone. For Manning it would be a more temperate love altogether. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. As her belly swelled, so did he.
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