Good words, without deeds, are rushes and reeds. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. She was in deadly earnest in everything she did. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. But it is all very different.
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