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Page 47
suffer anything, even the sacrifice of her life, in exchange for water being found for the others.
Maybe she was dead.
But she had been terribly thirsty when she had first awakened. Surely the dead did not feel thirst. And why had she felt that panicky sense of danger when she first saw the stranger? The dead would not feel dangerwould they?
This man looked like neither angel nor devil. He looked like Arlen. But he wasn't. That earlier impression of danger must have been imaginationmaybe a result of her loss of consciousnessfor she trusted her instinct. It told her now that this man would do her no harm. In fact, she felt drawn to him, as though . . . how silly. She was the one who seemed to be lost right now. Yet she had a feeling that she would help this man find his way.
After tying on her bonnet, Abby took the man's proffered hand as he pulled her to her feet. His grip was firm, and the contact felt alarmingly intimate. She let go quickly.
She was glad to find she was not too shaky. Finally recalling her manners, she said, "My name is Abby Wynne."
He smiled a little, and his craggy features softened. "I'm Mike, Abby," he told her. "Mike Danziger."
Abby gasped, and his expression narrowed suspiciously at her reaction. Danziger was Arlen's last name.
Since they had just met, etiquette demanded that he call her "Miss Wynne," but she was too

 
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