Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. "If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said, lamely. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man.
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