"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. But tell her this, too. ‘I have no idea. ‘Come along. "Do you know this picture?" he added, with another significant look, and pointing to the miniature.
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