" "Why?" McClintock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. But d—n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable. She was making it up. She became as The Tigress, a free thing. "You," answered Jack, abruptly.
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