In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. ‘For once, you’re talking like a sensible man.
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