No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?. ” It was certain that he was not there. My garden-close would be a better thing than that.
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