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ND do you mean to tell me, Anne, dearie, that Dick Moore has turned out not to be Dick Moore at all but somebody else? Is that what you phoned up to me today?”

“Yes, Miss Cornelia. It is very amazing, isn’t it?”

“It’s—it’s—just like a man,” said Miss Cornelia helplessly. She took off her hat with trembling fingers. For once in her life Miss Cornelia was undeniably staggered.

“I can’t seem to sense it, Anne,” she said. “I’ve heard you say it—and I believe you—but I can’t take it in. Dick Moore is dead—has been dead all these years—and Leslie is free?”

“Yes. The truth has made her free. Gilbert was right when he said that verse was the grandest in the Bible.”

“Tell me everything, Anne, dearie. Since I got your phone I’ve been in a regular muddle, believe me. Cornelia Bryant was never so kerflummuxed before.”

“There isn’t a very great deal to tell. Leslie’s