She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion. “You too were deceived. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. After Gwen!” “I sent a telegram. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe.
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