She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Irregularly, in a quite inglorious and unromantic way, you know, I am a vicious man. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn. “Dear husband,” she murmured.
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