Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Her normally shiny hair was 143 stringy and flat. "Then you need no further information from me," rejoined Jackson, sternly. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. “So should you. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. 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. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely.
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