“No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. Me, you may have. McClintock was amused. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback.
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