She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume.
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