It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. Mr. ” She said, knowing that his kindness was certainly not the primary motivation for his magnum opus.
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