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Ruth went upstairs without another word. The upper hall was lined with bookshelves reaching to the ceiling. “I must add a library to this dear place,” she said to herself while she sought for a book. She was tired,—she wanted to lie down, she wanted to wash from her mind the impressions of the day; she felt completely fagged.
General Adgate came upstairs behind her while she was peering along the shelves of calf-bound books. The shelves seemed to hold only a monotonous row on row of histories and works of philosophy.
“Take this,” he said as he passed her, and, pausing, he removed a book from an upper shelf and handed it to her.
This was a volume of Governor Bradford's History of New England.
“But,” Ruth weakly objected, “I wanted a novel!”
“You'll find that more interesting than any novel,” General Adgate threw over his shoulder as he proceeded on to his own apartments.
O Reflex Egotism! Ruth found the book more interesting than any novel.