He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach.
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