And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. She was like an angel with one wing. Perhaps Ramage was the more astonished. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. He looked at his friend. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment.
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