CHAPTER XXVIII. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true.
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