“You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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