Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead.
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