No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. ’ Melusine swung round and stared at him, while Gerald silently cursed. ‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Ramage—about the forty pounds. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly.
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