Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly. My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance.
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