Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. Ramage talked always about women or some woman’s concern, and very much about Ann Veronica’s own outlook upon life. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. They are not your flowers.
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