It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. "Women are always balling up and muddling clean cases. The south or principal front, looking, down the Old Bailey, and not upon it, as is the case of the present structure, with its massive walls of roughened freestone,—in some places darkened by the smoke, in others blanched, by exposure to the weather,—its heavy projecting cornice, its unglazed doubly-grated windows, its gloomy porch decorated with fetters, and defended by an enormous iron door, had a stern and striking effect. There was going to be no quarter between these two. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai.
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