“You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. Ramage—about the forty pounds. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. We had such a pride in you, such hope in you. I wonder if she has any idea how oddly beautiful she is?" Ruth at that precise moment was engaged by a relative wonder.
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