And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. I understand. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. . ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. She sat with him in the courtyard after serving him 20 spiced wine.
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