There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. The lady had disappeared. He could think about it later. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. S. " But she did not complete the thought aloud. The Bitchster strikes again. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow.
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