" McClintock whistled. She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. If she delayed a day she would delay two days, if she delayed two days she would delay a week, and after a week things would be adjusted to submission forever. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. “Yes. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life.
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