One hand is resting lightly with a faintly theatrical touch upon the head of the lean greyhound, the other is raised to her forehead as though to shield her eyes from the bright sun.,
He is now speaking with some difficulty, and is looking, not at her, but at the pattern he is drawing on the soft loam at his feet.,
"That is Mona's voice," says Doatie. "I must go. Finish your letters, and come for me then, and we can go into the garden and talk it all over again. Come in, Mona; I am here.".
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