" "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. "Good night!" "So," muttered Jonathan, "having started the hare, I'll now unleash the hounds. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word.
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