McClintock had brought from Penang three mangosteen evergreens; and, wonders of wonders, they had thrived —as trees. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. She would end alone. ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. She had no idea what she should do.
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