The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue.
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