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He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. He installed Anna in a comfortable easy chair, and placed his own between her and the door. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. “You should quit. Not these twenty year. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand.
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