“Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him. 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. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape.
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