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Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. He saw that she was tense. “It is unimportant,” she said. Knap. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. It was the first day you kissed me, under the willows, coming into Veraz. Do you see why I have hidden the terrible things from you? I chose you because you are my perfect mate. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Ramage, by a hundred skilful hints had led her to realize that the problem of her own life was inseparably associated with, and indeed only one special case of, the problems of any woman’s life, and that the problem of a woman’s life is love. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age. Give this fellow the slip, if you can, Jack.
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