Some of the times
when you used to take a lunch basket and go off--"
"Not a word," broke in Courtney. "Why, she was just like a kid,
laughing and singing and begging me to tell her stories about the
war, and life in New York, and all that sort of thing. She used to
read to me, bless her heart,--read by the hour while I smoked,--or
went to sleep. If she was in love with anybody she certainly never
took me into her confidence."
"I--I guess there's nothing in that theory," said Amos Vick,
shaking his head. "She didn't run away with anybody. That's out of
the question. I'm working on the theory that she sort of went out
of her head or something and wandered away. You read about cases
like that in the papers. I forget what they call the disease, but
there's--"
"Aphasia," supplied Courtney absently. His gaze was fixed on a
graceful, familiar figure down the street.
Alix Crown had just dismounted from her horse in front of the
library. She stood, straight and slim, on the sidewalk awaiting
the approach of Editor Pollock, who was hurrying up from Assessor
Jordan's house where he had been "interviewing" Annie.
A warm glow shot through Courtney's veins. He had held that
adorable, boyish figure tight in his arms! Nothing could rob him
of that rapturous thought,--nothing could deprive him of those
victorious moments. Amos Vick's voice recalled him.
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