She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. ” “But don’t you see how I must stand to you? Don’t you see how it bars us from being lovers—You can’t—at first. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations.
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