McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. . . And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. ’ She spread her hands.
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