‘Never. “Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what was being denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as he came upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's? —a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steel and granite outwardly. . But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her.
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