‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her. “You would believe that life is kindled by the passions alone. He's on the ragged edge. God help me. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. Presently he heard her voice. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection.
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