Capes became rigid and adhesive. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. But after that it was easy. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof.
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