She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “There is a secret. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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