The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. By that time it seemed to them they had lived together twenty years. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. F. Wood's. . I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. ” She laughed softly. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. He told her something about music, the great world outside. All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language.
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