“Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. The fever came. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest. In Darrell's open features, frankness and honour were written in legible characters; while, in Jack's physiognomy, cunning and knavery were as strongly imprinted. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. But at the word “home” she turned again.
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