” Her heart had warmed toward him. "A sail?" said McClintock. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. To stop her, Sebastian slapped her face and nearly dislocated her jaw. Voilà tout. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. Cut it as short as you can. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation.
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