Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. She laid her hand upon his arm. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. I'm trying to make you see the worldly point of view, which always inclines toward the evil side of things.
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