" "All right. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. At least I can’t talk to them. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. “I shot him. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends.
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