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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Her Father's Daughter"

"I am so
glad that you came. I'll tell you word for word what happened
here."
"That will be fine," he said. "Which is your favorite chair?"
"You know," she said, "that is a joke. I am so unfamiliar with
this room that I haven't any favorite chair. I'll have to take
the nearest, like Thoreau selected his piece of chicken."
Then for a few minutes Linda talked frankly. She answered Eugene
Snow's every question unhesitatingly and comprehensively.
Together they ascended the stairs, and in the guest room she
showed him the table at which she and Marian had studied the
sketches of plans, and exactly where they had left them lying
overnight.
"The one thing I can't be explicit about," said Linda, "is how
many sheets were there in the morning. We had stayed awake so
late talking, that we overslept. I packed Marian's bag while she
dressed. I snatched up what there were without realizing whether
there were two sheets or three, laid them in the flat bottom of
the case, and folded her clothing on top of them."
"I see," said Mr. Snow comprehendingly. "Now let's experiment a
little. Of course the window before that table was raised?"



"Yes, it was," said Linda, "but every window in the house is
screened."
"And what about the door opening into the hall? Can you tell me
whether it was closed or open?"
"It was open," said Linda. "We left it slightly ajar to create a
draft; the night was warm.


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