I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. You couldn’t help it.
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