“By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. “These are for you. We are in love. Ramage. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape.
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