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. ‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe.
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