So she went to Ramage and came to the point almost at once. She floundered deep. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. ’ The fury welled. My business is with Lady Trafford. Now drop it. But they been good to me, they have, sir. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set.
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