If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. He should never sufficiently be able to regret the return which they had made to her. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. But at least it gave her more time. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. Stanley,’ I said.
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