Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. " "Never fear," replied the lady. “That’s enough, Michelle!” Diane snapped in the ugly raised voice of the enforcer.
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