We men are like children. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Manning,” she began. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. I knew it. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son.
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