But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke.
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