‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. I mystify you; I can see that. I have no intention of allowing you to depart in a hurry. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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