Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. “We parted— that night the best of friends. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. ‘You are wise, Marthe.
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