They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. She wanted to come, and I wouldn't let her. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry.
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