He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. "Your son," answered the boy. No more scuffling. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. "I see. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. A young man turned to pay the cabman.
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