She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. “Go it, miss!” cried one. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave.
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