She looked at her for a moment fixedly. She was, she guessed, close to the library. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it.
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