‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. It was 1582. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true.
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