She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. "Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter.
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