“Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. We’ll go to the shops. Come, make yourself scarce. My only love is for my poor lost son. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. Gerald crossed back to the window. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. But the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge—rather profound—of human impulses.
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