It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. I couldn’t help the thought. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson.
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