" CHAPTER XI. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. The doctor frowned. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage.
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