“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. Here I am. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap gets up. So you are Prudence Remenham. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet.
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