"Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. Her teachers and mistresses had done their best to stamp her mind with an ineradicable persuasion that it was tremendously important, and on no account to be thought about. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon.
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