She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. Not alone with her, that’s sure. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. Wood; but they never come now. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't.
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