‘Poor things. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key.
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