They were at the corner of Pall Mall now, and had come to a standstill. Manning, I do not think I love you. That, I think, is manifest. Sheppard now directed her steps. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. Our mutual safety requires it.
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