They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. She did not forge a note. He's young and sound. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home.
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