She crooked her finger. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. "Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary.
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