The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. Howard Taber. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. There it is. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege.
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