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At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before.
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