He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. " So saying, he advanced towards the window, threw open the sash, and called out in the voice of Thames Darrell, "Who's there?" He was answered by a shot from a pistol. . She donned her gloves.
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