It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. She looked up, and recognized Mr. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. We'll try whether he'll get loose again. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven.
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