‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. ‘You were right, miss. "There won't be much left for you," he said.
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