By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. Wood fancied he recognised. White, who held out her hand and beamed a welcome upon him. 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 rapped again, louder.
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