She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. “You were seen to leave the flat, and your handkerchief was found there. Womanhood is sacred to me. Ramage. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard.
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