I told her what had passed; and with a sigh and a comment that I would get
an indigestion from so much mental nourishment as I was consuming, she led
me to the little library to find the book.
Messer Fifanti's was a very choice collection of works, and every one in
manuscript; for the doctor was something of an idealist, and greatly averse
to the printing-press and the wide dissemination of books to which it led.
Out of his opposition to the machine grew a dislike to its productions,
which he denounced as vulgar; and not even their comparative cheapness and
the fact that, when all was said, he was a man of limited means, would
induce him to harbour a single volume that was so produced.
Along the shelves she sought, and finally drew down four heavy tomes.
Turning the pages of the first, she found there, with a readiness that
argued a good acquaintance with the work, the story of Abraam the Jew,
which I desired to read as it had been set down. She bade me read it
aloud, which I did, she seated in the window, listening to me.
At first I read with some constraint and shyness, but presently warming to
my task and growing interested, I became animated and vivacious in my
manner, so that when I ceased I saw her sitting there, her hands clasped
about one knee, her eyes upon my face, her lips parted a little, the very
picture of interest.
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