The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. “Nigel, don’t you understand.
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