The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. Kneebone's 346 XIV. “In private. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. None this end. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid.
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