He embraced her like her father once had. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. She dismissed the idea of doing so. 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.
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