Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. " "Halloo, Nab!" vociferated Quilt. ” 129 She smiled wider. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. “You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony with things at home. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. " McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; and half an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key at work.
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