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. The quarry had passed out into the open sea. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. “I don’t want to take up your time. A curious silence ensued.
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