That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. It took her only two towns away, near the Arby’s where Mike worked. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made.
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