"Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. “My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm. Blue Ruin will do the job nicely. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. "I likes to hear vot you says.
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