’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. I defy you to explain it away. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's.
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