From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. " "It is," answered Wood. 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. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone.
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