He stood up abruptly and went to the window. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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