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Sisters by Kathleen Thompson Norris
page 142 of 378 (37%)
now, and Peter recognized, with a thrill of real feeling, the
shabby rugs and books and pictures, and the square piano beside
which he had watched Cherry's fat, childish hand on the scales so
many times, and Alix scowling over her songs.

"You heard--about Dad?" Alix faltered now, turning to face him at
the mantel.

"Your father!" Peter said, shocked.

"But hadn't you heard, Peter?"

"My dear--my dearest child, I'm just off the steamer. I got in at
six o'clock. I'd been thinking of you all the time, and I suddenly
decided to cross the bay and come straight on to the valley,
before I even went to the club or got my mail! Tell me--your
father--"

She had knelt before the cold hearth, and he knelt beside her, and
they busied themselves with logs and kindling in the old way. A
blaze crept up about the logs and Alix accepted Peter's
handkerchief and wiped a streak of soot from her wrist, quite as
if she was a child again, as she settled herself in her chair.

Peter took the doctor's chair, keeping his concerned and
sympathetic eyes upon her.

"He was well one day," she said, simply, "and the next--the next,
he didn't come downstairs, and Hong waited and waited--and about
nine o'clock I went up--and he had fallen--he had fallen--"
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