Too late. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. "You've ruined my hopes.
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