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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. You will be my witness, Madame Joan. You have misunderstood. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob.
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