" He then spoke authoritatively to the girl. She stared. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. He grunted, and his grip gave. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. Fifty sent home. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. "I'll tell you a dream I had last night," continued the unfortunate being. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles.
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