Then he did give way a bit. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. 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. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. The Rev. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. He had never wanted daughters.
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