’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. ‘All this gadding about. This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. She felt herself getting into a corner. There is no poison that would affect her. Ramage admitted the force of that.
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