If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. She held out her arms to him and smiled. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine.
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