Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. “Go on!” she commanded. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers.
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