’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. 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. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. It was a hoax, it was the only thing possible, until she heard Cathy say, “Let me hold those for you. Sheppard. Sorry.
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