“Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. Let—it—fall. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. "Do not steel your heart against him, dear Thames," interposed Winifred.
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