If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. "The ceiling is breaking! the floor is opening! he is coming to me!" cried the unhappy woman. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her.
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