He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. '" "Let me see," cried Jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the advertisement. " "Why didn't you head him off, explain that it couldn't be done by a white man?" Ah Cum shrugged.
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