He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. Charcoal. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. Until the age of five she adored him.
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