The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. It was all highly intriguing. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. CHAPTER XXIV. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. All my life I've had to fight human wolves to hold what I have. Oh, it was very bad. ” Ramage reflected.
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