The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. Diable. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day.
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