"Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. "My invitation did not extend to them. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that.
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