His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. It became suddenly glaringly apparent to her that it was impossible to return fifteen pounds or any sum less than twenty pounds to Ramage—absolutely impossible. After all, I fancy that I shall have to apply for a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn.
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