It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. She brought the unconscious man down. 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. She pushed him gently on the chest.
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