"I yield to fate. You shall know the truth. 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. She was, she guessed, close to the library. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. ” “I understand,” he said, doggedly. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him.
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