“Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. Ramage admitted the force of that. But this was long ago. It's sixteen days down, with The Tigress. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided.
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