“It’s jolly of you to come,” said Ramage. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort. Lucy marveled at the billiards table and the sauna. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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