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The strange girl was saying something to him, in a voice full and yet low, a voice with a sort of thick throb in it, and in its thickness a sweet and poignant quality. "Please," it was saying, "excuse me, you're Mr. Ransome, aren't you Winny Dymond's friend?" With a "Yes" that strangled itself and became inarticulate, he admitted that he was Mr. Ransome. "I'm Winny's friend, too," she said.
He had put away from him the almost tangible vision of Winny lying there, pretty as she would be, in her little white nightgown, and her hair tossed over his pillow, perhaps, and he vowed that for Winny's sake he would never do that thing. As for the feeling he had unmistakably begun to have for Winny, he would have to put that away, too, until he could afford to produce it.
She considered that she was there to take care of Ranny, and she had seen, in her wisdom, that to keep Ranny well in hand would be less hard on him than to let him lose his head. Violet hadn't seen it, that was all. Besides, Violet was different. She had ways with her which made it no wonder if Ranny lost his head. In Winny's opinion the man didn't live who could resist Violet and her ways.
Not really out because of Baby." They sat near, they spoke low, so as not to wake the child that slept on Winny's knee. "The kid doesn't give her many awful days. It's such a jolly kid. Any one would think she'd be happy with it." "She's so young, Ranny. You should think of that. She's only like a child herself. She's got to be looked after. She doesn't know much about babies.
It ended by its sheer terror in Winny's staying just for that evening, to put the little things to sleep. For nobody else, not Ranny, and not his mother, was able to do that.
Come, then; I will take you to my room to put on your hat," said she. They escaped unnoticed except by Lady Latimer. She followed them for a hasty minute, and began to say, "Margaret I have been thinking that Bessie Fairfax will do very well to take Winny's place as bridesmaid next week, since Winny cannot possibly come."
It was awfully good of you to bring me." "Not at all," he murmured. "And you're sure you didn't mind my speaking to you like that? I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been Winny's friend." "Of course not." She was not sure whether he were answering her question or assenting to her statement. "And now," she said, "you're going home?" "I suppose so."
She even tolerated what he wouldn't have thought a woman would have stood for a single instant, the fact, the palpable fact, that Ranny couldn't get along without her any more than she could. And if they could, the Baby couldn't. She would run from her mother's voice to hide her face in Winny's skirts. Baby wasn't ever really happy without Winny.
One morning he heard music somewhere outside the door, and as the day passed it grew louder and louder until it drowned the faint joyful voices, and even Winny's cry upon the hillside at the fall of evening.
Beyond the shoes, a stain that had faded rose and became vivid on the carpet. Then a film came over Winny's eyes, and on the far border of the field of vision, somewhere toward the top of her head, a yellow chest of drawers with white handles grew dim and quivered and danced like the yellow and white specter of a chest of drawers. "I suppose you're surprised," said Violet. "No, I'm not.
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