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” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. ‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. ‘She ought to be. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. I could not dream of loving you. How came you, Sir," he continued, addressing Sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. I can accommodate you below. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. You DO use vile language!” “Forget about it like this. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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