“I am sorry,” he said slowly. She sat herself upon the bed. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. 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. ‘If you had told him that I would rather die than see him, he would not have come. I didn’t betray you, I swear I didn’t.
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