“I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of the night. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. ‘And now,’ he said, drawing Madame to the seat, and contriving to sit close enough that his anatomy touched hers at several points, ‘let us talk about you, madame. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet.
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