"Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage.
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