Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. ‘Not from the nuns, no. At once.
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