She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. “Very much as usual,” said Ramage. Practically it was most of the chief interests in life that she proposed to settle in this pedestrian meditation.
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