As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. People always rejoice at the misfortunes of others—never at their own! The droll dogs! how they must have enjoyed it!—ha! ha!" "I dare say they did. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly.
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