From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing.
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