She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. His brows drew a little nearer together. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might.
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