” His eyes were burning. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. He saw that she was tense. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly. 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. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her.
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