’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. It’s so different from what one has been led to expect. “Shopman. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. ’ Looking round, she found the little coterie of soldiers crowded into the passage behind them.
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