I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. Hers were less noble, yet stately. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house.
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