She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. What was his problem, she thought to herself. “There I can’t help,” said Capes. “Want one?” Michelle deadpanned. "Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence. He became a little less en garde.
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