She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. " "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. And I find I can't tell one stay from another!" McClintock laughed. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic.
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