’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. ‘That’s why I’m asking. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. . The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. No more. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death.
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