” She found herself trying to remember all the old tunes her mother had taught her, as they were bright as little stars. You have to marry me. I don’t know. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. ’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured.
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