I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. ’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. We have so much to be thankful for. He knocked at the door.
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