“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. . Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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