I sha'n't cry any more. ‘Not entirely English then. . No, don’t let me call myself that. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. 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. “Well, lodgings and things! And I paid my fees at the College. It was a clear, lovely, October morning.
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