58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. You must let me do whatever I can for you. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. I suppose I ought to have been a man. Tell me I haven’t heard. “Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. Wild himself if I met him," retorted Jack.
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