She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. . “I don’t think I shall.
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