This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. It ran: —————————————————————————| Bored | and | nothing |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| | will | you | dine |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| | to-night | somewhere | and |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| | shall | be | grateful —————————————————————————- | to | do | | with | me | | talk | I | | Ramage | | Ann Veronica was rather pleased by this. “You are late,” she murmured. Well, it's scarcely credible. “You’ll be there, right?” She asked, hearing his breathing audibly jump. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. And you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it deserves. I understand.
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