her

He was well rid of her.

If he had married her, he'd have been asking for trouble.

His plans and dreams had revolved around her so much and for so long that now he felt as if he had nothing.

She lay there, making no effort to get back on her feet.

Her blond hair was frowzy, her dress torn in several places, and her shoes were so completely worn out that they were practically no protection.

It must have hurt her even to walk, for the sole was completely off her left foot and Morgan saw that it was bruised and bleeding.

He picked her up, sliding one hand under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and carried her into the house.

He put her down on the couch, and going into the kitchen, saw that the boy had dropped into a chair beside the table.

Morgan filled the dipper from the water bucket on the shelf, went back into the front room, lifted the girl's head, and held the edge of the dipper to her mouth.

She drank greedily, and murmured, `` Thank you '', as he lowered her head.

He stood looking down at her for a moment, wondering what could have reduced her to this condition.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched, then sat up, her hands going to her hair.

She stared at him, her eyes wide as she thought about what he had said ; ;

She got to her feet, staggered, and almost fell.

He caught her by an arm and helped her into the kitchen.

She sat down at the table, shaking her head.