He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives. Thank you for the books. "You hear that," cried Mrs. " Jonathan's eyes glistened as he told over the notes. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said.
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