As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. "I am surprised we have received no summons for attendance to-day," he remarked; "perhaps the other robber may be secured. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow.
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