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Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “You were booked of course. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. ***** Coconuts grew perpetually. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. "I guessed as much.
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