She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. gutenberg. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. Relief flooded her. She had a gold watch, a very good gold watch that had been her mother’s, a pearl necklace that was also pretty good, some unpretending rings, some silver bangles and a few other such inferior trinkets, three pounds thirteen shillings unspent of her dress and book allowance and a few good salable books. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits.
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