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The Wings of Icarus - Being the Life of one Emilia Fletcher by Laurence Alma-Tadema
page 39 of 139 (28%)
"This is nice of you!" he cried; then his father stumped downstairs
again, followed by a tall, sweet-faced woman.

"There, Jane," said he, "there she is."

I went up to her; she was, indeed, very shy. "Dear, dear," was all
she said; "deary me, think of this, it's very kind of you, I'm
sure," squeezing my hand the while as if it had been a sponge.

She led me off through the door to the right, into a comparatively
presentable parlour; but her brother took my other hand and pulled
me in the opposite direction.

"No, no," he said; "no, no, we'll go into the kitchen and have tea."

"Yes, come," said Gabriel; "I'm hungry, aren't you? Let's go and
find something to eat."

So we recrossed the hall and passed through a good-sized room which
looked like a second-hand bookshop. Books overflowed the shelves,
and lay in piles in every available corner,--the floor, the table,
the old upright piano, the very chairs, were covered with dusty
volumes. Out of this room led the kitchen, which at least looked
clean. A rosy little maid was leaving after the day's work as we
entered.

"Sit down," said Gabriel's father to me; "sit down, my dear; you
shall have some tea in a minute." And he began taking plates down
from the dresser. Miss Norton, meanwhile, had disappeared, and
presently returned with a loaf, dragging Gabriel after her.
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