“Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. 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. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. It was an impulse. THAMES DARRELL. That old world that had shoved up that silly old hotel, and all the rest of it. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him.
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