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. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind. . "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. “Thanks, so do you. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me.
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