There was no one to be seen in the great hall. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. “Thank you, ma’am. . You must forgive the poet’s license I take. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. 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.
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