Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia. You know the sort of thing. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. . “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested.
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