She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. "I don't know; I really don't know. ’ Then memory hit and he stared at his friend. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden.
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