Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. ” They went on for a time without another word. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding.
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