“What’s that for?” He said. He pressed his lips to her with a much greater force than she had anticipated. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. ‘And me, I am a lady. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence. They walked in silence. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated.
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