He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. 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. "Do you think I'd part with the sweetest morsel of revenge on those terms? No! But I'll have the secret out of you by other means. You make a game with me, imbecile. Those lives removed,—and Sir Rowland is completely in his power, the estates would be yours—HIS! if he were your husband. Spit of your mother. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. That is all I ask.
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