That was what she was trying to make him understand. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. The island was snake-free. ” “I thought I was old enough,” she gasped, between laughter and crying. My heart misgives me. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing.
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