I was afraid of being talked about. ’ He sighed, spread his hands quite in her own manner, and fluttered his lashes. He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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