"Don't you know me, mother?" "Ah!" shrieked Mrs. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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