Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. Otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.
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