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Updated: June 3, 2025
She always remembered afterwards that gravelly patch before the station, with its rows of motor-cars waiting for the men about to arrive from the city on the afternoon trains, and Reinhard's dark little face, which did not smile at her approach.
If it had not been for a cheque for two thousand dollars, which Clive Reinhard sent her, "in payment for your husband's work on the new contract," Milly would soon have been without a dollar in her purse. She took Reinhard's cheque thankfully, without suspecting her right to it. Others might suspect. For there was no contract, no illustrations made nothing but the novelist's recognition of a need.
She came to the last things, the canvas he had been working on the day his friend had found him. The touch of fever was in it, a grotesque head, but it was as vivid as fresh paint. Yes, he had been one who could see things! She had a sense of pride in the belief. Another of Reinhard's sayings came back to her,
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