Since then he has persistently annoyed me. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it.
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