“Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. It's all very well to read him a lesson, and teach him obedience; but you've gone far enough for that. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing.
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