'—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. She had found him! Excitement welled. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place.
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