” He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. \"Hi. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. ” “At any rate,” she declared, “your remarks decided me. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly.
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