So she went to Ramage and came to the point almost at once. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. " Carefully depositing Winifred on a sofa, Jack then extinguished the light, and, as he unfastened the door, crept behind it. Her heart thudded. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek.
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