Our ideal had fallen. "Rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. ‘He is not in England, you understand. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. " "I am not, by Heaven," returned the knight, solemnly.
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