My heart cannot take it. Though he never seen so much of Miss Mary as I did. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. 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. .
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