“Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. I don’t know anyone.
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