The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing.
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