Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. “Do come and see the Michaelmas daisies at the end of the garden,” said Mr. Wood turned to look at him. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated.
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