Light flooded the place. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. He walked in her direction. I'm not interested in him.
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