Me, you may have. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. CHAPTER XIV. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. His glasses were gone. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. She would marry him. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical.
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