Don’t leave me. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. If you are going that way, why not join us. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof.
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