In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Playing became a way of escape. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation.
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