On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. 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. I didn’t go out of my way or anything. “I suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently.
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