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"He is dying?" whispered Ruth. "Yes, your son, Madam. ” The lady in black satin looked at the pile of luggage outside and hesitated. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. Manning. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage.
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