She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. “Please forgive me. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. Wood.
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