And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. 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. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. “It’s okay.
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