I don’t wish to marry you at all. I wish some one would kill Ramage by accident!. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly.
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