‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. She opened her mouth and inhaled water. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. “I got your note just in time,” he remarked.
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