I can get that at the bar," the manager said, curtly. It is no crime, none at all. She reflected before answering. She shook her head. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. "Well, Mrs.
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