CHAPTER III. ’ Her features broke apart in a laugh. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate.
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