Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. One only. He’s just. " Sir Rowland bit his lips to repress the answer that rose to them. “It was the night you left Paris. I have established a fine trade. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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