“So Lucy, I hear that you are quite the violin player. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. 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. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know.
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