“I think,” he said, “that I am right. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.
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