Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. \"What's in there?\" Lucy asked.
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