His spirits began to rise. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches.
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