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" McClintock whistled. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds. And yet—I love you. ‘And what is it you’re to rescue her from, I should like to know. ‘This is insupportable. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind.
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