“Are you free tomorrow? Should I call?” He asked. I don’t feel it. I do—with all my heart. 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. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. His tone was kind and sympathetic. ’ ‘Then leave me to guard myself, and do not ask me questions any more,’ she snapped, and crouched down suddenly, searching about for her dagger.
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