One gets drawn into things. . Her thoughts took words for themselves. . ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. You must live for me. My late husband, I mean. 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. Some of my schemes are already in hand.
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