If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. ’ There was a silence. 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. To these a heavy wooden apparatus was attached, which could be raised or lowered at pleasure by pullies. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all. I can vouch for that. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. “Oh. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. “Is it your maid?” he asked.
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