“I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. Ramage!” she began, and his mouth sealed hers and his breath was mixed with her breath. She crooked her finger. Her defence ceased rapidly to be in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and ear.
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