He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. His face fell. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. 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. " CHAPTER XVIII.
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