‘Must be still downstairs. One has to be so careful. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all.
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