It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. The weather harmonized with their feelings. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. Later, she would sew it on. 2. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified.
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