Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. Marry, come up! I'll show him what an injured wife can do. " "I shouldn't call her queer.
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