Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. " "It is false," cried Mrs. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden.
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