‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. ‘What a catalogue. She cried out his name in ecstasy. Ramage admitted the force of that. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son.
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