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Page 217
Not that she was ever anything less than cheerful.
''Guess what Hannah's made us for dinner," she said.
"Arlen stew," he guessed, as he did each night, earning an exasperated shake of the head.
"No, pasta with seafood pesto."
Each night there was a different dish, a veritable encyclopedia of healthful culinary delights: savory chicken casseroles; bean stews; pastas and rice with amazing and creative toppings.
Hannah was outdoing herself, with Abby's help in the kitchen. But Mike knew that Hannah was trying to keep Abby occupied after each day's fruitless search. The more downcast Abby's mood, the more intricate the gourmet meal.
But the only place her depression ever showed was in the dimming of the brilliance of her dark eyes, more each day.
That evening he sat down at the dining room table set with everyday dishes dressed up by candlelight. After a moment Abby joined him.
"Here you are." Hannah placed a plate before each of them.
But Mike hardly tasted the first bite of pasta as he noticed Abby just twirling the noodles around her fork.
"Give it up, Abby," he growled, shaking his head. Nothing was worth her becoming so despondent.
"Give up what?"
"Your search for those damned journals."
"Oh." She seemed to mull that over. Then her

 
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