Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. The gallows has groaned for him for years. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Anna, I listened to all that he had to say, and I called to him to let me get out. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him.
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