Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. Lights were on and Michelle’s mother was up, occasionally pacing as Michelle and Lucy had been gone for over two hours. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. " CHAPTER IX.
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