I must have something in hand. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. “Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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