Stanley went on, “but there are things— there are stories about Ramage. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. " And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. I know life.
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