"Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of this horrible little room. So I fear there's little chance of any one getting it. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery.
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