He recoiled from the sting. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. . "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. The garrets were said to be tenanted by coiners, and artists employed in altering watches and jewelry; the cellars to be used as a magazine for stolen goods. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. "You will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast.
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