The attempt was unsuccessful. He would always be her friend, too. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has. “No. I have had no one but for you. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. “It’s jolly of you to come,” said Ramage. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured.
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