She rode him gently. Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. CHAPTER I. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. I slaved over it, contacted half a dozen genealogy groups and came up with zilch. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs.
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