Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. But, here they are. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door.
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