" "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. " "It won't. Then the incredible happened. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. " "How long have I been in bed?" "A week. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead.
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