She fled. Annabel thought, and thought again. You've a good deal to go through to-night. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead.
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