‘What is this proof?’ ‘I will not tell you. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. Ramage back his forty pounds. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking.
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