‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. On the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Ramage did not know.
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