The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her.
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