" And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began—with the tubbing of a stray yellow dog. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. . . Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. ” He looked at her gravely. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. ” “You were in a difficult position,” Mr. " "God forbid!" exclaimed Wood, fervently; and, as if afraid of prolonging the interview, he added, with some precipitation, "But I must be going: I've stayed here too long already. This year—I’ve got it badly. I MUST. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace.
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