He said nothing. ‘Now then,’ said the captain sternly, ‘I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. Meet me. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off.
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