Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach your destination. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England.
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