" McClintock whistled. “Put her in the trunk. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. I’ve got nothing to do for a month but think. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede.
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