It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. 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. “Delicious!” she murmured. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. My mother really wants to meet you. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. Many little things had contributed to that decision.
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