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A long sigh answered her. The boy rested his dreamy eyes upon her. He was no longer ugly, with his thoughts illumining his face. "Marechal Niel," she heard him whisper, still with his eyes upon her, "all in soft, radiant robes like a gracious queen. Lady, you fit well next my Homer rose." "What Homer rose?" asked Ruth, humoring the flower-poet's odd conceit. "My strong, brave Homer.
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