She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. 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. The last observation, however, caught the attention of the carpenter's wife. "No; we never had one; at least, I never saw it. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again.
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