’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up. 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. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. The rascal will be at work before the morning.
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