“Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. But she perceived that to tell Manning of her Ramage adventures as they had happened would be like tarring figures upon a water-color.
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