Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. No— no, it must never be.
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