"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. Fortescue, with a bow. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it.
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