82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. Parbleu, but she was a fool. I may as well think. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. “Well, well, Martin. Manning,” she began. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. "So I did," retorted Mrs.
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