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. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Ousted from his old retreat, the Cross Shovels, Baptist Kettleby opened another tavern, conducted upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the Seven Cities of Refuge. . “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said.
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