"It is a great pity to burn that," he would whisper and then he would lay the book aside for his own reading. He would turn the leaves lovingly and look slyly at the pictures. Often the curate would find a volume over which he would linger for some time. "Then we will carry them around into the back yard and burn them where the smoke will not annoy anybody." "Throw them out of the window into the garden," said the housekeeper. "Perhaps there are some that do not deserve to be burned." Then he asked the barber to hand him the books one by one, while he opened them and examined the title-pages. The curate smiled and did as she desired. Some unseen sorcerer may be lurking among the books, and the water will drive him out." "Here, doctor," she said, "take this and sprinkle every nook and cranny in the room. She ran out and soon came back with a sprinkling can full of water. There, ranged neatly on shelves, they saw a hundred large volumes and a goodly number of smaller ones. They unlocked the door and went in, the housekeeper following them. "Here it is," she said "and I hope you will make clean work of it." "We have come to remove the cause of his illness," said the curate and he asked the niece to give him the key to the room where her uncle kept his books. Indeed, he did not awake until the day was more than half gone. Early the next morning the curate and the barber came again.
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