” She said quietly. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. “A number of beautiful things are not intense.
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