He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street. As she learned more and more of his knowledge, she began to realize how much faith and trust he invested in her. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. And why, after all, should she not borrow money from Ramage? It was so true what he said; middle-class people WERE ridiculously squeamish about money.
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