As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. 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. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. We shall see. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Only au revoir. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane.
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