Aliva's husband, who passed by the name of Darrell, confronted them sword in hand. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. Outside the door he turned and stared at the panels. So she went to Ramage and came to the point almost at once.
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