For Manning it would be a more temperate love altogether. 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. To compare me to a starving pig. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. I want to know who sent you those.
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