She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Kneebone's," remarked Austin, rising to fasten the door. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. “You’re splendid. ” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours.
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