The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. I finally got my own set of house keys when I turned eleven.
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