" CHAPTER IX. “You won’t give me away, Anna. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Contests were held every year, the type of which depended on her caprice. Other things came. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. ’ Melusine jumped. “A young man comes into life asking how best he may place himself,” Ramage had said; “a woman comes into life thinking instinctively how best she may give herself.
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