Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. Her anger died and she eyed him. It was locked. Rather a hazardous spot for a convalescent, and McClintock had been doubtful at first; but Spurlock declared that he was a good sailor, which was true. Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. . Then the long lashes sank demurely over them.
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