She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. She fled. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. You don’t understand. There was a little murmur of consternation from the waiting crowd, and the florid young woman showed signs of temper, to which Mr. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not.
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