“Call me Cathy, John. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains.
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