” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. Sc.
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