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” Ramage reflected. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. ” He was strangely silent. ’ ‘Ah, but I have a special reason for doing so this time. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. The child was still safe. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort. “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and businesslike pace toward the house. But they found him on the veranda when they returned from McClintock's that evening.
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