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However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to drag myself to my horse. CHAPTER VIII. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself.
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