Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory.
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