As Gosse pushed her around it, she felt his hold about her of necessity loosen slightly. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning.
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