Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. You are not a tourist seeking adventure.
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