The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. He took his social pleasures once a year in Hong-Kong, after Easter. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. The expression was wholly different. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all.
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