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He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. And if I don’t, I go mad. It was you who were so much amazed that I did not try—the music hall stage here. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. " "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue.
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