"Yes, my dear, that is right, only in these cases the people expect no
return, knowing fully your circumstances; your acceptance and enjoyment
repay them sufficiently."
But Sara shook her head. She had her own ideas of these things, and
besides, it was no trial for her, the doing without society. Here, as in
Killamet, she preferred books to people; though she was often charmed to
find herself deeply interested in some individual, who upon acquaintance
developed qualities she had only dreamed of before. But it was simply as
individuals that these interested her; taken _en masse_ the world
of men and women seemed cold almost to cruelty. After one or two
evenings out, she went back to her books with a warm feeling of
attachment.
"You cannot disappoint me, dear old friends!" she whispered lovingly,
and the next invitation was answered by a formal regret.
So the winter passed quietly and swiftly away; for busy time is always
swift time, and all three of our Olmstead household were thoroughly
busy: Sara with her writing added to the museum work; Morton with his
studies, in which he was growing deeply interested; and Molly in a
little of everything. She had no special fondness for books, but a real
genius for cookery and housework, most of which now devolved upon her in
their modest establishment.
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