A common rage flushed their faces. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. She had looked forward to an explanation. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit.
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