His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. Ramage. She took his hand in hers. Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discovery of the man’s identity. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. “I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully. “You don’t want to go?” “No.
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