Earles watched her anxiously. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. “I will not rob you of your coffee, most dutiful of sisters!” she exclaimed. Late in July he finished the fourth story. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. And not a worthy tome in sight.
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