The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. "But you do agitate me so much. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be.
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