Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically.
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