For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. The Semitic looking young man opposite, who seems to have been committing you to memory piecemeal, will tell you that he was never so bored in all his life as he has been here. Wood, furiously. She could have kissed Cathy. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind.
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