He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. . The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers. Heard of your last escape. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor.
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