"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered.
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