works. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles.
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