He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you.
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