He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. " "Fooled or not," returned Mrs. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. just furtive meetings. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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