He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. ’ The girl nodded understandingly. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things.
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