"I have good news for you. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. Burn your palette and your easel. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. Ramage. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction.
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