It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. You will not have to wait long for the information. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. Or at least he did the day before yesterday. There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. A man as rich as you are ought to have a thousand-ton yacht. Earles recovered his spirits. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened.
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