They decided quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. Now, let’s get down to business.
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