On it, written in block letters, was Donnie Ryland.
Pleased to meet you, Donnie Ryland.
Just as Donnie was limply shaking Dean's hand, Cynthia returned, smiled at the boy, and offered her hand as well.
Donnie turned and ran up to her, gave her a hug and then scampered from the parlor as she entered.
But we don't even know for sure Donnie is her boy.
Donnie Ryland followed close behind him.
"Me and Donnie just had a banana split," Fred said, putting his arm about the boy's shoulders.
Donnie smiled shyly as Fred continued.
Dean asked as Donnie wandered out of the room and up the stairs.
"That was sweet of you to take Donnie under your wing," she said.
Donnie sat close to his mother doing a Denver Post crossword puzzle.
Donnie was in pajamas.
Donnie gave a nervous smile.
Donnie tugged at his mother's hem and motioned to the dress, nodding his head.
Donnie continued to tug and look up at his mother.
She turned to Donnie and reached for his hand.
Donnie popped to his feet and brushed a kiss on his mother's cheek and resumed his work.
Donnie smiled at his mother and nodded his approval.
Donnie had paid no attention to their conversation but having tired of his puzzle, picked up the notebook of letters and numbers and began to study it, turning the binder page by page.
Donnie nodded his head in agreement.
Donnie ran up to his mother and gave her a hug.
Donnie and I will be leaving in the morning.
It must be tough on Donnie too.
He'll kill me before he'd let me take Donnie away.
She managed to keep her pregnancy secret until an abortion was out of the question and Donnie was born.
While Cynthia was telephoning and Fred mumbling, Donnie came downstairs to the dining room.
Donnie smiled and looked to Dean for an answer.
Dean told her Donnie was a guest at Bird Song and explained the lad, only slightly older than Martha, did not speak.
"Donnie seems comfortable here," she added, as if she felt compelled to move the conversation to less personal ground.
It was very traumatic for Donnie and he hasn't spoken since.
Fred O'Connor beat a hasty retreat out the back door, looking like the Pied Piper with Donnie and Martha tagging behind, the Annie Quincy notebook under his arm.
She claims Donnie isn't Shipton's son.
Gladys Turnbull was pounding away on a lap top computer in a corner of the parlor while young Martha and Donnie played a game of Old Maid on the sofa.
Donnie viewed the encounter with mild curiosity while Gladys remained in her chair, pudgy legs elevated, looking totally petrified.
Meanwhile Donnie and Martha, with Cynthia's help, tried to revive the mortally wounded creature but the prognosis was not good.
I'm Gladys Turnbull the author, and this is Donnie who can't speak, and Martha who lives in town.
Before leaving, Martha whispered something to Donnie and gave him a friendly pat on the back.
You could play with Donnie some more.
Donnie. He writes notes.
I think Donnie can talk.
I like it that Donnie don't—doesn't talk.
Edith didn't say a word to me when she came in, just whispered something to Donnie and was up the stairs.
Donnie stood shyly behind her.
She turned and hurried up the stairs as Donnie stood by the table, torn between curiosity and following his mother.
Donnie looked at the impressive impalement and Dean started to show it to him but Claire grabbed it from his hands.
I was wondering if you'd let Donnie sleep down here with you tonight?
Before Dean could let loose with a torrent of pithy comments, there was another knock on the door and Donnie entered the room.
Donnie shook his head "no" and began listing the letters as Cynthia had suggested the night before.
Donnie sat off by himself with one of the copies.
It was Donnie who found the combination "8M2" and guessed it was most likely a replacement for "THE."