They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. You must let me take you to things—to meetings and things, to conferences and talks. McClintock was amused. The three of them laughed joyously. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe.
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