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. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat.
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