" "I will—I will," replied Wood hastily. ‘Exactly like my father. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ’ ‘Oh, she’ll be safe enough, Gerald. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. gutenberg. Well, it had to happen somewhen.
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