"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. Now, she was the very reverse of all this. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. "One motive alone shall induce me to go on with you," said Jack.
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