. "Save me!—save me!" "Damnation!" vociferated Jonathan, savagely. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. But Sheppard answered for him. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead.
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