Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. Now let us forget it. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. 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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