Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. It is she that I must see. ‘All right, Trodger.
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