Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. For a few minutes all was silent.
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