It was the size of my palm. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. "You came hither under my protection, and you shall depart freely,—nay, more, you shall have an hour's grace. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice.
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