It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. He felt her observance and warmed to it. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. 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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