She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes.
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