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McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. “It isn’t objections exactly. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. But they found him on the veranda when they returned from McClintock's that evening. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's.
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