No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. The young man looked at her. She was fine and tender. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. There was a case, or something, some years ago. He had not to wait long. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. . She cried and sobbed in fits.
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