“My Mom was a good lady. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. I bent over him. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. Jonathan laughed scornfully. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. ‘I know what it means, numbskull! Didn’t spend years in the confounded country without picking up some of their infernal tongue.
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