’ ‘But there is still Remenham House. If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. ” She picked at her sandwich idly.
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