‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence.
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