The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
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