‘Your mystery lady, I mean. ” “Of course not,” said Ramage, as one who rouses himself from deep preoccupations And he began to question her in a business-like way upon the steps she had taken and the inquiries she had made. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo.
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