Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. 195 < 24 > A CITY IN GREECE, 589 B. She could feel her face turning beet red. Both started.
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