“Dear John,” she whispered. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. There was no light in the room; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse.
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