He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. Ramage talked always about women or some woman’s concern, and very much about Ann Veronica’s own outlook upon life. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. I was mean to him.
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