“Hi. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night. Ramage. Just an idea of mine. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you. This time, there was no doubt, she did not sleep. Then blackness. Come on. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice.
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