It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. He was speechless. Earles waiting. “Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Like stealing. Wood, at Dollis Hill —" "Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,—"Mr.
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