His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace.
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