It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. “I do want you. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another.
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