She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. " "As for that, I don't say. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. There was little fighting spirit here.
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