The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night.
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