” Ramage reflected. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. “What a little brick!” he murmured.
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