“I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. He cherished her. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day. ’ ‘She’s as clothheaded as you,’ Roding retorted, but he slipped an arm about the lady’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud.
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