She had found two copies of the magazine and carefully cut out both photos. 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. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess.
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