“Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. ” “A man does,” said Manning—“a true man, anyhow. “You must tell me the truth, please. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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