The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. “Well, anyhow, consider it open.
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