Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Winny, this is the last night I shall pass beneath your father's roof. " "Footsteps are approaching," cried Thames. Capes. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. .
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