"I have read so few," she says, wistfully, and with hesitation. Then, shyly, "I have so few to read. I have a Longfellow, and a Shakspeare, and a Byron: that is all.",
"Nothing. Not all the talking in the wide world," with a brilliant blush, but with steady earnest eyes.,
She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound lies here," and once more turns to the door..
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