But we must not anticipate the course of events. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. ” “Tell me more. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. . There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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