Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. “Here is my card. “Is this Montague Street, W. " "And you must have risked much to obtain it, my love. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. Ramage!” she began, and his mouth sealed hers and his breath was mixed with her breath.
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