” She kissed him passionately, and ran lightly upstairs. He has told me sufficient of you—" "My dear," interposed Wood, "for goodness' sake—" "I will speak," screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; "I will tell this worthless creature what I know about her,—and what I think of her. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. I wonder what he meant by that?" "The Lord knows!" The patient was restless during the first watch of the night.
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