Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. It is a serious accusation. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence.
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