The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. I love him!" She was weak and dizzy: from horror as much as from physical exertion. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. Charming girl. "Then I am old-fashioned.
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