There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. “I’m thirsty. They’re too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed.
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