Marie had not registered on her
arrival, because there was no ink in the inkwell, and the pen had
only half a point; but she was rather relieved to find that she
was not obliged to write her name down--for Bud, perhaps, to
see before she had a chance to see him.
Lovin Child was in his most romping, rambunctious mood, and
Marie's head ached so badly that she was not quite so watchful of
his movements as usual. She gave him a cracker and left him alone
to investigate the tiny room while she laid down for just a
minute on the bed, grateful because the sun shone in warmly
through the window and she did not feel the absence of a fire.
She had no intention whatever of going to sleep--she did not
believe that she could sleep if she had wanted to. Fall asleep
she did, however, and she must have slept for at least half an
hour, perhaps longer.
When she sat up with that startled sensation that follows
unexpected, undesired slumber, the door was open, and Lovin Child
was gone. She had not believed that he could open the door, but
she discovered that its latch had a very precarious hold upon the
worn facing, and that a slight twist of the knob was all it
needed to swing the door open. She rushed out, of course, to look
for him, though, unaware of how long she had slept, she was not
greatly disturbed.
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