He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. " "You might trust me," said Rachel, in an offended tone; "but never mind. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. “You shall,” she said.
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