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” “He only heard this afternoon,” Sydney continued. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Monroe would lock the whole group of us in the basement, every day. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him.
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