The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. She laughed altogether in her old manner. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. He whispered in her ear. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. “It’s precious unromantic. " And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. \" \"Would you like me to carry some of the books? I have nothing to bring home today.
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