47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. "I need not ask whether this is Mr.
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