I've just come up from the library; my candle dropped.

I shouldn't have been frightened, but you talked with such a twang." "But I have just come from the library myself," said Cornelia.
"I mean from the dining-room," her father corrected himself hastily.

"I can't sit in the library; shall have it altered--full of draughts.

Don't you think so, my dear?
Good-night.

What's this in your arm?
Books! Ah, you study! I can get a light for myself." The dialogue was sustained in the hard-whispered tones prescribed by darkness.