‘It did not seem to me that it was so. These persons were Mr. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. "Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one.
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