The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. 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. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. Farewell. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. That really settles about that. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. But, after all, it will be different. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill.
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