“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. “Ah!” said Ramage, impressively. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails.
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