It isn’t what I have been but what I am. Ramage!” she began, and his mouth sealed hers and his breath was mixed with her breath. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. Since the discovery of them, she had been madly eager to read these typewritten tales. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster.
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