The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. On the other hand, you seldom revere your immediate grandfather, unless he has promised to leave you some money. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. 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. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane.
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