That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. It was horrible, but she must do it. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. If Mr. The Ragged Edge.
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