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Phoebe
BY MALCOLM KENNETH MURCHIE
The setting was perfect. There was a moon put somewhere back of the August sky and a country club orchestra in the distance playing up to the limited abilities of its six pieces.
"I love you, Phoebe," Leland whispered as they sat on rush-backed benches under the night. "You're the loveliest girl in all the world. I don't know how anyone can be so lovely!"
Her laughter, was a little pleased, a little spoiled.
Then Leland added with a touch of petulance, "Why you have to go up to that Lodge is more than I can understand!"
"Silly!" Phoebe answered, touching his
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Heading by FRED HUMISTON
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