. . "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. "Mercy!" screamed Mrs. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. There was also the daunting task of getting dressed. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit.
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