‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. ‘Nothing. ‘Don’t be silly. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. I’m not Gerald, remember. .
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