"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. ” She groaned aloud and bowed her forehead to her knees. 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.
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