These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. “What, you don’t think that you can afford it? Lucy, with your musical talent, you’ll get a full ride. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive.
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