The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. " "Here are your despatches," said Jonathan with a significant look, and giving him a sealed packet.
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