The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. " "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. Only her babe died. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. It was most amusing.
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