“You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. He found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. . She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement.
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