She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. He is in the care of those who will not leave the task assigned to them—the utter perversion of his principles—half-finished. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. “You were married to him!” “It could not be legal,” Annabel moaned. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. He is in Newgate.
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