l, she found ways of consoling herself."
"Such as writing verse." I indicated the yellowed papers I had laid on Sturdevant's desk when I came in.
* * *
The only light left in the cottage kitchen had been the wavering radiance of the coal fire in the range. So much talking had tired Faith Corbett and she nodded in her chair, all but asleep.
"Thank you for the tea," I said rising. "I'll be going along now."
The old woman came awake with a start. "Wait," she exclaimed. "Wait! I have something to show you. Something nobody but me has ever seen before." She rose too and went out of the room, the sound of her feet on the clean boards like the patter of a child's feet except that it was slower. I stood waiting and wondering, and in a little while she was back with a number of yellowed papers in her hand, pencilled writing pale and smudged upon them.
"Here," she said, giving them to me. "Maybe they will help you find her."
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