Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. “I know. . \"Shhh! He rolled onto his back again, raising himself in alarm. But, be like a son to her. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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