He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. She gloried in it: he needed her. I—I hurt myself. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. When the prisoner was brought into this room, he was again questioned; but, continuing contumacious, preparations were made for inflicting the torture.
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