Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. All she needed to do was to have a body. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers.
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