1. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ” Ramage looked at her, and then fell into deep reflection as the waiter came to paragraph their talk again. “More than that, he arrived to-day at the boarding-house where I am staying, greeted me with a theatrical start, and claimed me—as his wife. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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