“Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. Please don’t tell anyone, mister. A lovely, fetching girl. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over.
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