As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. “One can’t tell. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Her eyes followed him. If it is that you need these things, then of course we will go there. There was one letter. Wood from pressing his suit long ago. “That’s the point.
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