Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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