” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong.
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