Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. "Let me go," cried Winifred. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. " "Ah! indeed! what's he doing here?" inquired Jack. Indeed I must. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. “A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull. ” “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs. Jack could hardly be accounted good-looking: Thames, on the contrary, was one of the handsomest boys possible.
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