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Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. “And what will Mr. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell.
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