\"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. \"You cannot know how frustrated I have become.
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