The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. ’ With an air of real interest, he asked, ‘I suppose you did not dig a tunnel or fly in by balloon?’ The lady gazed at him blankly.
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