Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. Probably hadn't. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. I'm nearly nabbing you.
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