” Brendon leaned over confidentially. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. “I am happy. Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. I have always been lonely.
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