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“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. But in that reservation it may be she went a little beyond the converse of his view. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. “I must go. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. But she perceived that to tell Manning of her Ramage adventures as they had happened would be like tarring figures upon a water-color. . Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor.
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