It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. " "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true.
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