She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still.
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