Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. ‘The whole town is talking. I’ve had enough of it. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church.
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