When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. “Very much as usual,” said Ramage. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. “The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a young lady in your position may or may not venture to do.
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