You needn’t be in any doubt about it. Thanks. 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. The man’s as obstinate as a mule. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. And afterward her mother and Alice kissed long and clung to each other. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all.
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