"Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. Wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. It is just how things happen to be. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. Always. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
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