He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. It’s—it’s a social difference. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Beasts!” But Miss Miniver took no notice of his admission. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart. " "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically.
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