CHAPTER XVIII. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. The river, the big buildings on the north bank, Westminster, and St. " "I'll never understand. ” Anna nodded. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all.
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