" "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. " "What's that?" "Think it over," said McClintock, grimly. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre. ” He seemed bored. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. "The whole thing in a nutshell!" "Are there no men a woman may trust absolutely?" "Hang it, that isn't it.
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