Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. ‘She wants you. —'I see how it'll be,' observed Alsatia, 'everybody'll pay his debts, and only think of such a state of things as that.
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