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. ‘Very useful, of course. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. Thanks. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.
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