’ ‘No, I won’t. "What good would it do you to destroy me? For I have courage to kill myself. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. Until the age of five she adored him. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. "Not my king's," returned Wood. "His disguise was capital; but I detected it in a moment. But in a moment she believed she understood. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Mere hangers on.
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