Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. "I have nothing. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer.
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