Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. "Given a chance, I can make bread and butter. Anyhow, she’s disappeared for some reason or other. I am. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Giles's round-house. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. . The thought made her exquisitely happy.
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