‘I’m a soldier, missie. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. \"Let's get out of here. “He just wants to get laid, you know. “I do not blame him.
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