Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of this horrible little room. Mr. He seemed to be thinking hard. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. ‘This is not a place for a man. No instrument I've ever used has done me such good service. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life.
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