But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet. ” “What is it that I should plan for in life?” “Life itself is glorious enough. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She’s got a great imagination. Do you know, I envy you. ‘Until today. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch.
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