But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. I would that you were my own. . She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man.
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