But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. ’ Ignoring this, the major slipped his hands about her waist and lifted her to her feet. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. \" She looked at Mike. By a sort of instinct. 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. ” “How could you!” She exclaimed. “It seems—It’s interesting. ” “Did you say,” Sir John asked, “that the man’s name was Hill?” “Yes,” she answered. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them.
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