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. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. “Katy Pfister. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere.
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