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. . . Only that I was prevented by one of those soldiers that caught me in the big house. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. “But then they would find that check endorsed in his bureau. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. In vain Wood protested his innocence. ’ She stopped, for Jack was feebly laughing.
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