" "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. She and I were very close. Spit of your mother.
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