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‘I am done, Gérard. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. He walked in her direction. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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