Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. Not a breath was drawn. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice. Was the man debating whether or no to tell the truth? A grimace played about Valade’s mouth and the general waited, maintaining his own rigid pose.
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