“Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. “One can talk without undertones, so to speak,” said Ramage. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. This man and he were alike, and about the same age. You are my wife now and you belong to me. “Want to see Mr. ” “What else,” Lady Lescelles murmured, “are men for?” Anna laughed. His manner was deferential, even eager. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it.
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