She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. “The fellow seems to know your name, Miss Pellissier, and that you have lived in Paris. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. You must think it over. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue.
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