\" The thick girl with the blue- black hair spat. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face. 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. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears.
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