She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. “Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. And for many years, that was the way it was. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner.
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