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The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. His voice had broken. Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered.
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