” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. ‘You should rather be arresting the girl and throwing her into gaol for attempted murder. " "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. It slipped out—as did that “she”. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home.
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