Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. She turned with an effort. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. " McClintock whistled. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up.
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