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No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. Stanley went on, “but there are things—
there are stories about Ramage. The beachcomber, the lowest in the
human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate. I heard from David about you
only this morning. Look! Is that some one
coming out?”
The front door of the flats stood open, and through it a woman, slim and veiled,
passed on to the pavement and turned with swift footsteps in the opposite
direction. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut
into a practical short bob.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 02-07-2024 16:23:01