“I think we are growing sensible,” he said. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her.
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