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. “Actually, I am, it is terribly stupid. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening.
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