" "Are you friendly toward him?" asked McClintock, passing a fine cigar across the table. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. . . His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. But did you ever hear of a djinn in a blue-serge coat? Stitched in!" Something like this was always rushing into his throat; and he had to sink his nails into his palms to stop his mouth. “Well?” she said. "I wouldn't give a betel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believed himself in the right. She shrugged her shoulders. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. " "Your esteem is all he will require," urged Winifred. " "Well," replied her son; "and you spurn the proposal. .
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