Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. ’ ‘I shall stop him,’ declared the old lady furiously. She did not have to investigate that his door was locked. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house.
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