’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. ’ She sighed relief to see a faint grin as he ventured to raise his head. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. You, for instance, you live, you are not afraid to live. “It’s too bad. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman.
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