Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. Sheppard returned no answer. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. " The spinsters nodded approvingly. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.
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