She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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