She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. He neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. I do not believe that you will marry David Courtlaw. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Do you know that he is very much in love with you?” Anna smiled.
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