” Ramage reflected. Hurrying on, his progress was soon checked by a strong door, several inches in thickness, and nearly as wide as the passage. He went over her features one by one in his mind. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. They do a good job, huh?” He smiled at her. I am not sure, but I believe that he has just thought of something.
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