Her moods were many and always striking. "Despatch him!" roared Jonathan. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. You are a girl with very little. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do.
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