To the Lighthouse, Part 3 of 13
The Sleepy Bookshelf
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The Cuckoo
Mr. Ramsey rather sheepishly prodded his son's bare legs once more. He dived into the evening air, which already thinner was taking the substance from leaves and hedges. But as if in return, restoring to roses and pinks, a luster which they had not had by day. The children were growing up. She often felt she was nothing but a sponge, sopped full of human emotions. Then he cursed her. He said it must rain. And instantly a heaven of security opened before her. There was nobody she reverenced more.
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