It was cramped even at the end of the passage. Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. Oh God! pardon me. He was damned if he knew what to do. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. The expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone.
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