"
"I will show you my purchase," added Nicolovius, after a moment of
seeming irresolution.
He disappeared down the hail to his bedroom, a retreat in which Queed
had never set foot, and returned promptly carrying a dingy duodecimo in
worn brown leather. As he entered the room, he absently raised the
volume to his lips and blew along the edges.
Queed's mental processes were beyond his own control. "Three days old,"
flashed into his mind, "and he blows dust from it."
"What is the book?" he asked.
"A very able little history of the Reconstruction era in this State. I
have a mind to read you a passage and convert you."
Nicolovius sat down, and began turning the pages. Queed stood a step
away, watching him intently. The old man fluttered the leaves vaguely
for a moment; then his expression shifted and, straightening up, he
suddenly closed the book.
"I don't appear to find," he said easily, "the little passage that so
impressed me the day before yesterday. And after all, what would be the
use of reading it to you? You impetuous young men will never listen to
the wisdom of your elders.
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