At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. 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. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him.
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