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. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. “In a sense—yes. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. He had let go his name so easily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; he could not remember.
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