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. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full.
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