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Gatlin, Dana

"Missy"


"Get your wet shoes off at once!" called mother.
"That's just what I was going to do." And she hurried up the back
stairs, unbuttoning buttons as she went.
Presently, in her night-dress and able to breathe naturally again,
she felt safer. But she decided she'd better crawl into bed. She lay
there, listening. It must have been a half-hour later when she heard
a cab stop in front of the house, and then the slam of the front
door and the sound of father's voice. He had just come in on the
9:23--THAT hadn't been him, after all!
As relief stole over her, drowsiness tugged at her eyelids. But,
just as she was dozing off, she was roused by someone's entering the
room, bending over her.
"Asleep?"
It was father! Her first sensation was of fear, until she realized
his tone was not one to be feared. And, responding to that
tenderness of tone, sharp compunctions pricked her. Dear father!--it
was horrible to have to deceive him.
"I've brought you a little present from town." He was lighting the
gas. "Here!"
Her blinking eyes saw him place a big flat box on the bed.


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