Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. But I will never—never return.
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