And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. I can’t love you. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. Latterly I’ve been doing things. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. I had a hunch. ‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger.
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