"I could not make him understand. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Ramage. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. ‘I may have been only a secretary, but times are changing. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it. She had been careless.
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