“That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow. It’s not like we’re getting married. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. “Mr. .
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