He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. ‘Let me see if our minds are attuned. He had hurt her. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes.
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