She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. He lowered himself on to her. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. He did not move.
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