It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. " "Who wouldn't be lively after thirty years' sleep? Did you hear her explain about beachcombers? And yet she looks at one with the straightest glance I ever saw. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes.
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