She did not wince. A severe pang shot through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. 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.
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