But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. "I'll pledge you in that toast with all my heart.
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