“Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. She continued to fan herself. ” She seated herself in a loose and easy attitude and surveyed the backs of the Avenue houses; then her eyes wandered to where the new red-and-white villas peeped among the trees. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. Not at all. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors.
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