Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. And the woollen-draper departed. 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.
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