“Yeah, I know. 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. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. ’ ‘Ha! You’re Catholic, too, damn his eyes,’ growled the general.
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