" There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. ‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately.
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