The Well Hole 336 XIII. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ’ ‘Lord, man, it’s only a scratch!’ Suddenly Gerald snapped his fingers. “I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. " "Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour. She felt flattered. .
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