She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Mike had suffered severe depression in his first years with the Becks, but had grown to think of them as his natural family to the degree that his past seemed like a distant memory. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. Think of those days in Paris. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. ‘It’s a pretty name. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. 196 Succeeded where she had not.
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