She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. ” He moved himself from the recliner to the couch and patted a cushion. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. Acknowledge your faults.
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