’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. ” Ramage reflected. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. Mike chortled. " "Anything like that?" "Yes; but the colour is lavender.
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