Do you think he'll pay it?" "I'm sure of it," replied Austin. "Very well, Mr. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. “What a little brick!” he murmured. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. It slid off flimsily. 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. “Of course!” he said.
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