In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. Fas du tout. "I'm not going to get rid of you just yet. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate.
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