A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. I sat within a few feet of him. ” He said bravely. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. ‘But to do only what one wishes, it is not always convenient. 3.
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