“—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. We made sure it was just like Gwen. She was weeping now. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. On the other hand the two young men who sat on either side of Anna were already throwing murderous glances at the newcomer. "A sail?" said McClintock. Her voice recalled him.
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