His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. I tried it myself, Sir. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper.
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