Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. 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. One transgression; he was sure of that.
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