And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. Remember, some day you and I are going to have that book. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. His age was not far from fifty. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own.
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