CHAPTER XVI Ah cum began to worry. On the way he confessed. "These writer chaps are queer birds. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. . She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. I can’t help you a cent.
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