” She shivered. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. ‘She’s gone. She resolved to go into the City to Ramage and ask for his advice. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. Get a license—just an idea of mine. He was amused.
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