“I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. My, um, my curfew. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. . At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet.
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