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Because I loved her at the start, but was too big a fool to know it!" His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. The latter began to heave himself up from the sand. "Did I hear you ..." began McClintock. "Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable. I might have known it. Another labyrinth in hell!" A smile broke over the trader's face.
A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. She would marry him. Because of the thought of love and companionship?
He recalled McClintock's comment about Spurlock being the kind that fell soft. Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. Meantime, O'Higgins wended his way to the Victoria, mulling over this and that phase, all matters little and big that bore upon the chase. Mac's. In one of the little red circles the doctor had traced that abbreviation.
From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. This morning he heard voices McClintock's and the Wastrel's.
McClintock's eloquence and he is always eloquent, his crater is always spouting is of the pattern common to his day, but he departs from the custom of the time in one respect: his brethren allowed sense to intrude when it did not mar the sound, but he does not allow it to intrude at all.
That is McClintock's way; it is his habit; it is a part of his genius; he cannot help it; he never interrupts the rush of his narrative to make introductions. It could not escape Ambulinia's penetrating eye that he sought an interview with her, which she as anxiously avoided, and assumed a more distant calmness than before, seemingly to destroy all hope.
A prophecy which was to be fulfilled in a singular way. "Given a chance, I can make bread and butter. I'm no mollycoddle. I have only one question to ask you." "And what might that be?" "Will McClintock take us both?" "You took that chance. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's." He paused, and not without malice. He was human.
It was remarked that the inexplicable Mitchell House policy remained in force in the years since McClintock's return; witness the present incumbent, frivolous Thompson, foreigner from Buffalo him and his house parties! It was Mitchell House still, mauger the McClintock millions and a half-century of possession.
"You read it, Ruth. You're luck." "Aye!" was McClintock's inaudible affirmative. Luck. The boy would never know just how lucky he was. Ruth read: DEAR SIR: "We are delighted to accept these four stories, particularly 'The Man Who Could Not Go Home. We shall be pleased to see more of your work. "'The Man Who Could Not Go Home. Why," said Ruth, "you did not read that to us."
The stores, the drying bins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around an exquisite landlocked lagoon. One could enter and leave by proa, but nothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval an island of coral and lava.
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