It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Earles’ waiting-room who would march you straight off to a registrar’s office. But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions are made," the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall at night. "But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape.
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