"Certainly not," replied Gay. " Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. ” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. “Read this, John. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet.
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