He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. “One hardly knows—all the time. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. Gerald began to ease forward, deciding just how he would accost her. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me.
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