“Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. 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. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. I am loved. ’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley.
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