A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. ’ ‘Don’t count on it. At last—I told a story. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. The room seemed a vacuum. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. “Serves you right if I’d cracked your skull.
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