Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge.
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