She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. . Ramage. That would be him. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly.
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