“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. John picked it up and put it in her hands. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet.
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