"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. ’ She inclined her head, looking up at him through her lashes, and passing a tongue lightly over her lips. She ought to have leapt back on guard. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair.
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