Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. “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. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. But it was of no avail. It was the girl. And I do not know you. “All of which doesn’t help me in the slightest degree to pay back that money.
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