And for many years, that was the way it was. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
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