“I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. He was caked with dried muck.
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