“I wonder,” said Ramage, “that more girls don’t think as you do and want to strike out in the world. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. “Very,” said Mr. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife.
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