Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. I thought you understood. ” “But it may matter very much indeed,” Anna declared. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. Ramage did not know. . “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked.
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