He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. He had died before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day.
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