The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. “I’m only arguing against your position of what a woman should be, and trying to get it clear in my own mind. I came in by the vestry, and we will go out that way again. ” He groaned. They had refused. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend.
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