But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. And if I don’t, I go mad. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. But don't let my name frighten you.
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