"Did you write it?" "No. Sheppard. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. You tell me he didn't like the stuff. I shouldn't talk like that. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed.
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