“I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. “You know—,” said Mr. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. ‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. You deal with her. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor.
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