He was staring at her, openly gaping. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory. 260 “Can you turn me into one?” “Yes, I can turn you into one tonight. There were two. We can get absorbed in play, in games, in the business we do. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave.
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