Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites.
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